Survival, Sealand, and A Very Different Side Of Russia
by eleanoralovesananias
Summary: Micronations can't survive forever. They only have a certain amount of time to become a country before they fade, and no one knows this better than Sealand. But where does Russia come in? Is the nation famous for being literally heartless a bit softer than anyone knows?
1. Bad Dreams And Bad Memories

Bad Dreams and Bad Memories

Russia was just walking to... somewhere. Afterwards, he couldn't remember where. Anyway, he was walking, when he heard a sound like splintering wood and a shout of anger. Curious, he stopped and went towards the sound. He was surprised to see Sealand and a large wooden wall, which had a big mark in it from Sealand hitting it. Sealand shouted again, a cry of anger and frustration, and punched the wall, again and again, until blood dripped from his fist. He punched the wall until he choked on tears and slid to the ground, crying like a total wimp. Russia, confused, walked towards him. Sealand's head snapped up, and Russia saw his red, tear-stricken face. The look on his face gave him credit. He was brave, all right, or just desperate, because his expression wasn't terrified at all. The look in his eyes was one of utter and complete hatred towards everything and everyone. It was so angry that Russia took a step backwards. And in that second, Russia saw himself in that face. Himself, so long ago, in his violent past. Back when each day was life or death, when every man he killed meant another hour to stay alive, when all hours of the day were a constant battle never to succumb to either the armies after him or General Winter. Russia staggered, overcome with the memories.

_The wind, swirling like a living thing, determined to peel the skin off his face... Men, some twenty of them, blue with cold, running after him with swords raised... A scream, blood, blood everywhere, he must not stop killing, must not succumb to his nausea at the sight. They would not do him such mercy..._

Russia stared. That expression... it was like looking in a mirror. He knew the desperation, the anger, the horror that lurked behind it. He knelt down next to Sealand. "A-are you okay?" he asked uncertainly.  
Sealand glared at him. "Does it ****look**** like I'm okay?" he demanded. "No one will even let me be a country! I can handle myself!"  
Russia stared at him. Oh, God, the memories. They overwhelmed him, buried him under the past. He knew what it was like, he knew the desperation to survive. A sudden conviction overtook him. Sealand would not be disappointed. He, Russia, had survived because of a lone sunflower. Sealand would survive because of him.  
"Come with me," he said, not unkindly. He jerked Sealand roughly to his feet and dragged him away.


	2. Just Wonderful

Russia! That idiot was a new addition to his list of enemies. NO ONE would acknowledge him as a country! And England - oh, he wasn't even going to think about England. He didn't deserve to die.

Russia had him firmly by the arm and was dragging him through the snow. It went on for hours. He would fight and struggle until he was tired, and then sadness would overcome him and he would burst into tears, crying until he nearly fell asleep. Then he would suddenly jerk awake, and a fresh wave of anger would rush over him, and he would start fighting again. It was a cycle that went on and on until eventually, exhausted, he fell asleep.

Russia stormed through the snow, searching. Inwardly, he was struggling as much as Sealand was. Every step he took brought a fresh wave of memories, vivid and brutal, as he recognized places he had made camp, or fought a battle, or briefly met up with his sisters before they were separated again. He fought to keep control of his emotions. He was Russia. He would not cry. He would not cry. He would not cry.

At last he saw it - over the next hill, a hut. The hut, the hut that he had built with his own hands to withstand the elements, where he had finally hidden away from the violence and the horror. Where he had lived until his sisters found him and introduced him to the other countries. He could hardly believe it was still standing. Of course it was, he reminded himself. He had built it to do just that - stand, and stay standing. He didn't fail.

He dragged Sealand into the hut and dumped him on the bed as roughly as he had picked him up. Russia saw that Sealand had fallen asleep, his face streaked with tears. He resisted the urge to reach out and tenderly touch the boy's cheek. Tenderness was for weaklings, and out here in the tundra, weaklings died. After a minute fighting with himself, he stood and lit a fire. Before he left, he scribbled a note and pinned it above the fireplace. Sealand would see it when he came to the fire to warm himself. Russia gave one last glance at the tiny figure asleep in the bed made for someone three times his size, and left.


	3. Survival Of The Fittest

Survival of the Fittest

Sealand woke up, feeling warm and comfortable. Remembering the events of the day before, he sat up. His anger was gone now, replaced by his usual cheerful self, but he was a bit worried. Where was he, and what did Russia want with him? He was surprised to find himself in a small, one-room hut - and completely alone. There was a small fire in the fireplace. Sealand shivered, suddenly feeling the cold despite his thick blanket. He slid out of bed and rushed to the fire, teeth chattering, hugging himself to stay warm. He supposed it was even worse outside, where there was no fire.  
He looked up - and there, pinned above the fireplace, was a note. He grabbed it and scanned it, surprised. In Russia's hurried scrawl, it read -

**Learn to survive, and I'll think about it.**

Think about it. That could only mean one thing.  
Sealand now had a powerful ally.


	4. I Like You, And I Hate You For It

I Like You, And I Hate You For It

It was almost six months later when Russia remembered Sealand. He should go back to the hut, to make sure Sealand was dead. Sealand must be dead. No foreigner, no one who hadn't grown up with the tundra, could have survived. That was a good thing. So why did he feel this prickle of regret at the thought? He would not go back to the hut. Sealand was nothing like him. Sealand was dead.

Two hours later, Russia knocked on the door of the hut. Sealand, surprised, answered it - and was even more surprised to see Russia, standing there like a fool, unsure what to do with himself. "Come in," he said uncertainly. He evidently had no idea what was going on. **That makes two of us**, Russia thought sourly. He looked around, searching for clues on how Sealand had survived - and how similar they really were. He saw a coat, hung over the fireplace, that, as should be obvious to any tundra-bred eyes, was made of caribou skin. Russia was impressed, despite himself. "That's good," he said, pointing to it. "I didn't bring down my first caribou until I was much older than you." Sealand stared at him, unsure whether Russia was making fun of him. It didn't seem possible that Russia liked him. Russia saw Sealand staring at him and gave a tentative smile, and Sealand saw some of the emotions that were going on behind those eyes. But he said nothing, for which Russia was grateful. He hated this, hated that he felt proud over Sealand's achievements, hated that his heart had betrayed him so easily. Part of him was happy and proud that Sealand had survived, and the other part of him - the part that he felt more comfortable with - wanted to hit him with a rock until his head caved in. He wasn't sure whether to smile or scowl. In the end, half of his face smiled and the other half scowled. In short, he ended up looking like a total idiot.


	5. Prepare For Battle

Prepare For Battle

Over the next few years, Sealand trained. Russia, for whatever reason, had apparently decided he liked him. Sealand learned fighting, strategy, how to intimidate people, blah, blah, blah. It was almost four years later when Sealand - now much older and wiser - decided to go back and do what he'd set out to do in the first place.

"I'm leaving," he announced one morning. Russia looked up from polishing his pipe, unsurprised. "When?" If he'd been any more blunt he might have been mistaken for a very overgrown Latvia.

Sealand, long since used to Russia's ways, answered, "As soon as I can. I want to make England beg for mercy."

Russia grinned.

Sealand was in England's house, spying. At first, he had set out straight for England, ready to beat him up. But as his anger cooled, he had realized what an incredibly stupid idea that was, and instead jumped onto a London roof to think. He thrust his chin into his hand and swung his legs, thinking as hard as he could. To an observer, he would have looked like a ventriloquist's dummy - tiny, tiny, tiny, and tiny.

Russia, as it happened, was also spying on England. He saw the tiny figure on the roof and grinned.

Sealand nearly fell off the roof when his phone **beeep**ed. A text? Who would text him now? He flipped it open. The text read:

**Think, idiot. Your enemy is England. You need an ally. Who do you go to?**

Sealand grinned. "Thanks, Russia," he said aloud. Then he jumped off the roof and headed straight for Paris.

France jumped at the loud rap on the door. He was, unfortunately for Sealand, just out of the shower. And so it happened that Sealand met a bathrobe-clad, wet-haired, enormously annoyed France. He took a step backwards. But then he straightened up and looked France in the eye. **Well, this certainly makes it easier to "show no fear,"** he thought. "I want to beat up England," he said.

France blinked. "You want to what?" he asked in disbelief.

"You heard me. I want to beat up England." Sealand saw France raise an eyebrow. He remembered one of the things Russia had taught him - I**f your case isn't getting across, you might need to flatter them a little. Or give them, you know, the better end of the deal. Just don't confuse flattering them with deferring to them. Give them enough so that they'll stick by you, but keep enough so that you don't have to stick by them.** "You don't have to do anything," he said quickly. "You don't even have to tell anyone you're allied with me. Just give me your army."

"Yeah, right," France snapped. "I was in the shower, in case you haven't noticed. Thanks a lot." He turned to leave.

Desperate, Sealand yelled, "Oh, I get it! You're scared 'cause you think England's army is more powerful than yours! It probably is anyway. I'll just find someone stronger to ally with, if you're so scared."

France turned back, bright red with rage. "I am not scared!" he yelled. "Fine, go ahead! But if you get crushed because you don't know how to lead an army, don't blame me!" And he went off to brush his hair.


	6. Brought To His Knees

Brought To His Knees

It was the end of a very long and bloody war. Everybody watched as Sealand held his sword to England's throat.

"I won't give up!" yelled England. "You can't be a country!" And all of a sudden, England did some kind of ninja move, and suddenly England was standing, holding his sword to Sealand's throat. He glared around, looking at everyone. "Who stands up for this idiot? It better be someone, or I'll slit his throat." There was no question whether he would do it. Unlike America, England felt no affection towards Sealand.

Sealand stared at Russia. Russia saw the fear in his eyes. A rush of memories overwhelmed him.

**They had his own sword to his throat... he looked to her, the immensely powerful woman who had trained him... he was scared, but she would save him, he knew she would... and she turned away. Turned and left, with not a backward glance... Rage overcame him... he grabbed his sword and killed and killed and killed until the sea ran red with blood.**

He wouldn't let that happen to Sealand. He wouldn't. Almost without thinking, he rose to his feet and clapped his hand on Sealand's shoulder. He glared around, daring anyone to contradict him. They all looked shocked and scared - especially America - but nobody dared to challenge him.

England slowly dropped his sword. He glared at Sealand. "You win this time," he snarled, "but beware. You've made an enemy." And he ran off.


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue  
The next day was the World Meeting. Sealand entered - for the first time without sneaking in. He looked around - and sighed. "I see no one bothered to get a chair for me." "Actually," replied England, smiling a little too sweetly, "I took the liberty of arranging one for you." Everyone went on alert. Russia opened his mouth to warn him, but it was too late. Sealand sat in Busby's Chair.


End file.
